


The Three Year Wait

by coal15



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coal15/pseuds/coal15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod makes a shocking discovery about his marriage. Ichabbie goodness and smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Three Year Wait

It was like a thick fog lifting. No. Not lifting. Vanishing in the space of a single breath.

"It was all an enchantment." Ichabod muttered, stunned. "You _enchanted me!"_ He barked with a menacing step toward her. "My adoration! My total devotion! A full two years long! and pining, desperate for the day you'd decide it was time to extricate yourself from the Horsemen!"

"No! No, the same spell was cast upon me, sir. I assure you!" The woman insisted. "Lord only knows to what intended end!"

The suspicion did not completely vanish from his unblinking gaze, but it did soften somewhat. The woman (Katrina) did seem as disturbed and angry as he. And come to think of it he had no reason to doubt her.

But likewise to reason to trust her. A stressful quandary atop a large and growing pile of upsetting facts.

"Before I met you, my sisters of the coven and I were near to completing an intricate spell, years in the making, that would have halted the Apocalypse in its tracks-but its success was reliant upon us specifically so now it's not even recreate the elements . . . "

His inclination to believe her grew stronger by the moment. Though he couldn't fathom how engineering their love affair would benefit either the side of evil or good, her distress struck him as very real.

"Ichabod, our whole courtship is a blur to me! I remember every feeling, each obsessive moment, but I do not recall much in the way actual _events!"_ her eyes filled with tears. "It pains me to know I've lost so many years to a marriage I barely remember, to a man I've no idea whether or not I would have otherwise entertained as a suitor - no offense!" She added hastily.

"None taken!" said Ichabod, officially convinced that they were both victims of this awful spell. "I feel precisely the same. I recall perfectly being entirely swept away the first time I laid eyes on you, but as the feel was the work of an enchantment, as was my impression of your every quality, for all I know we'd have met in passing and nothing more."

"Well," she said with a heavy sigh and extended her hand. "In any case, I am pleased to make your _honest_ acquaintance."

"Likewise." Ichabod shook her hand and made a slight, gentlemanly bow. "I move that we set about hunting down whoever did this to us at once."

"Agreed. With one caveat."

"Yes."

"It's been a long few nights. I can hardly hold my eyes open much less _think._ If you wouldn't mind seeing me to the nearest decent hotel, and we can meet at your earliest convenience tomorrow?"

Ichabod happily agreed. "I assume we are also agreed," he continued as they ambled toward his car, "that we are not in fact husband and wife?"

"Absolutely agreed," Katrina replied with a smart nod. "The benefit of being so long 'dead,' I suppose is that the legal proceedings of divorce are not an issue."

Ichabod chuckled.

"Though I do remember enough of you to know you are a good, honest man. If you ever wanted to 'grab a coffee,' I would not be averse."

It was on the tip of Ichabod's tongue to accept the invite when a realization struck him with the force of a freight truck.

_Abbie_

His all consuming passion for Katrina was cleared away, leaving only camaraderie and friendship born of their mutual plight, and there stood Abbie. With the fog and mud of spell work cleared from his mind, he felt the full truth of the last three years. What had actually gone on in their first months as together.

 _We fell in love._ He sighed. Or what would have been love if not for . . .

Ichabod politely told Katrina that while he also was not averse to 'coffee' their relationship would go no further than friends. He told her why as well, and she was quite happy for him. Unsurprised and happy. The two chatted pleasantly until they reached a suitable hotel, then Ichabod drove back to the cabin.

He spent the rest of the day reclined in the couch in a meditative state, trying to picture the last three years as they might have gone had there not been larger influences at play.

_I suppose I had an inkling . . ._

The feeling was never strong enough to sway him from his beloved wife, but there were moments when an attraction to his partner pulled at him. Fleeting, but strong in the moment.

_When would things have happened?_

The beginning of open flirtations? (in retrospect he could see that flirtations had in fact occurred, but always veiled, in an ambiguous manner.). First date? And what kind of date would he have arranged for them? Or would he have left the planning to her?

 _Probably her. I tend to overthink that sort of thing when the stakes are high . . . so when? . . . Think, Crane!_ For some reason he needed to visualize the recent past in this new context. Asking her out . . . (The language of contemporary courtship was no longer odd to him.).When, where, how . . .

_Pure simplicity for the how, obviously. 'I am interested in you, we should go out.' Something to that effect._

Which begged the question of when their bond, the nature of their feelings, truly began to change? How far would he (or they) have let it go before addressing the matter?

 _She'd have said something first._ He was sure of it. Yes, he'd often acted with reckless spontaneity and verve in pursuit and/or defense of Katrina, but now he knew that it was the result of supernatural influence. Not that he wouldn't pursue a woman he desired, but in general he was quite unlike the man who'd cast aside all other concerns to win his wife's heart. In general he was the sort of man who, at least with important matters, considered decisions and actions very carefully. When he first began to realize he disagreed the goals and tactics of the crown as much as the self - declared 'Americans,' he was fighting, he went to the law books of Britain and various unofficial documents on the philosophies of America for guidance and clarity. Considered the matter from a number of angles. Including whether or not the inevitable break from his peers and family would be too hard to bear.

_No, Abbie would be the fort to address the matter aloud. I'd have avoided the issue. Silently twisted myself into knots over all the ways a romance could complicate things._

He closed his eyes and tried to find a specific time and place in his memory. The right one. It couldn't be an experience based on finding Katrina, because he had no way of knowing whether or not he'd have courted, much less married the woman.

 _Well that scratches a fair number of scenes from the list of possibilities . . ._ He went deeper into his mind, examining details with the sensibility of a detective. _It would have been either when we were just spending social time together, or when - no! No, we were all silly banter and *light* flirting in those events._ Another possibly off the list. He kept digging. _In the midst of danger? No, more likely in the resolution or escape of a danger. Not something so exhausting we were left brainless and in need of sleep . . . nor too injured for a flicker of romantic thought . . . THERE IS IS!_

The scene that felt right. The scene his mind could rewrite without effort into what could have (should have) been.

_The day we buried the body . . ._

**WHAT SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED (and for the most part did, minus the verbalized romantic sentiments.) :**

It happened a little over a year after they met.

"Is this a first?" Asked Abbie as they stood over the body of the razor toothed creature. Unpronounceable name, but it fed on the brains of children. Not on the sense of eating them, but driving them to a dementia - like, delusional state until the poor things were either committed, or committed suicide. Which in two cases then drove a parent to suicide.

_So it would be more accurate to say it fed on the sanity of children._

Anyhow, when they killed the thing it didn't fall into a portal, or melt, or vanish in a puff of smoke. It just fell over dead like any other corpse.

"What do you mean?" Asked Ichabod.

"We have a _body_ to deal with. I didn't bring a shovel, did you?"

Leaving the thing to rot where it fell was a bad idea, God only knows what kind of panic could spread if a civilian discovered it. Abbie stuck around while Ichabod went to fetch shovels. It was dark by the time they'd accomplished the task, and between digging the hole and pushing the phenomenally heavy body in, they were both covered in grime and sweat by the time they returned to the car.

They fell into their respective seats, Ichabod behind the wheel, and he flipped the light control so it would stay on.

"Wow!" Abbie laughed. "You look gross!"

"Oh, really?" Said Ichabod with a smirk. "Because you're a _vision!"_

"Hey, you can take us straight to that fancy new french restaurant, I'll fit right in!"

Ichabod grinned as he turned onto the main road. "I've no doubt you would put every other lady in the room to shame." He cast a sidelong glance her way and was surprised to find that despite her messy state, he could almost imagine such a thing being true.

(In the actual event, this realization was followed only by the thought _'yes, Miss Mills is rather a great beauty,'_ along with as a slight tickle of attraction, then they'd exchanged a 'look,' and fond smile. But now the past event was being rewritten as he lay on the couch. He'd gone so deep into the alternate world it felt very close to real.)

. . . he could almost imagine such a thing being true.

_The dirt and such does not diminish her eyes. And how could one not be affected by those eyes? Sharp, yet soft. Full of . . ._

He knew she was looking at him, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull over and kiss her.

So of course he kept his eyes riveted on the road.

_If I look at her, I'll do it._

"Crane?"

"Hm?" _(God I hope that sounded casual!)_

"Look at me."

He kept enough attention on the road to ensure their safety, but did as she asked.

"Let's try it. Not going in filthy, obviously, but it's not that late."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "We go home clean up, maybe _dress up_ a little, and I'll meet you there."

He made a hesitant noise.

"C'mon!" She elbowed him. "We spend like all of our time fighting for out lives, we deserve a treat!"

 _Abigail Mills in dressy attire . . ._ His flesh heated at the thought as he tried to imagine what sort of dress she might choose. _Snug or not? Elegant or daring? The neckline perhaps a - STOP IT!_

"Isn't that . . . I mean would it seem awfully close to dating?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "Pull over, Ichabod."

"I -" he sputtered. "I didn't mean to offend y -"

"Just pull over." She unbuckled her seat belt as he pulled off the road, and he followed her lead.

Before he could ask what the hell was going on, she lunged forward and kissed him. It wasn't a _'let's see what this is like'_ kiss either. More like a _'first night of a first romantic getaway'_ kiss.

 _Oh!_ He thought, responding with enthusiasm.

She was warm, and determined, and her tongue felt like silk in motion.

(Even the real Ichabod laying there on the couch could _feel_ the moment. So vividly that his hand began to wander to the source of a growing distraction.)

True, she tasted vaguely like the nacho chips she ate with lunch (a snack Ichabod found appalling), but that was hours ago. Mostly she tasted like something he could want every day.

"We are dating, dumbass," she said.

In his _actual_ vision of this altered reality, he saw them meeting at the restaurant, and nothing terribly graphic happened. A kiss goodnight, and the relationship progressed from there . . .

**WHAT DOES HAPPEN:**

. . . But male fantasy had overtaken the desire to see things accurately. It became s fantasy within a fantasy.

"She wears . . . something pale . . . " he whispered. He was too aroused at that point to see any particular color clearly, but he knew it was something that perfectly highlighted her dark skin. Contrast. "Short sleeved. Falls to mid. . . mid thigh. And it's - oh _God,_ this is unacceptable!" He cried out as he stroked himself with furious need, imagining himself taking off her hypothetical dress as he came.

"Nope," he declared to the empty room and pushed himself into sitting position. "This will not do."

He quickly cleaned himself off and strode out the door. Didn't even bother to grab his coat. He felt not the slightest twinge of uncertainty as he drove to Abbie's house. The exact opposite, in fact.

 _We're fixing this, and we're fixing it NOW. No half measures, no 'what if's, no 'should we's, no 'it's a bad idea'!_ He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and tapped his foot while he waited at the longest light in the history of traffic lights. _This utter FARCE of a 'friendship' has worn out its welcome!"_ stupid."

Then Abbie asked the obvious question. "What about Katrina?"

He brought her up to speed as quickly as possible, and when he finished, the two were left half grinning at one another with an awkward sort of affection.

Abbie shifted on her feet.

"So."

"So indeed . . ." Ichabod echoed. "I suppose the only question now is. . . . how to begin a relationship when one is already so in love and familiar?"

"Well there's the usual." Said Abbie in her usual no nonsense tone. "We start at square one and just date. Dinners, movies, other fun things. Normal people stuff." She shrugged. "See where it goes."

Ichabod nodded. Even with love and familiarity, being truly together was still new ground. "That would be the prudent choice."

"Yup."

A long moment of staring meandered by.

Ichabod broke the silence. "Or we could say to hell with it and skip ahead. Make up for lost time." He waited patiently for a response.

"It's been what, three years since you got here?"

"Give or take a few months, I believe." Ichabod confirmed.

"Let's assume we would have been together for pretty much most of that time, yeah?"

"I've no doubt whatsoever." He agreed.

"Three years is one hell of a wait, Crane." She said as she stepped toe to toe with him, and raised her arms up high, eyes locked on his.

"Hmmmm," Ichabod mused as his hands trailed over her midsection, slowly hitching up the light fabric of her shirt until his fingers curled beneath the hem. "A terrible wait . . . " he pulled the shirt up over her arms and let it drop to the floor. "Oh my," he whispered, admiring the sight of generous breasts clad in a bra clearly intended to provoke lust above all other purposes.

"D'you like it?" Abbie asked with a sultry grin as she brought her hands down.

"I find it curious," Ichabod chuckled. "I have seen you in this precise state of undress on two previous occasions, and both times it was a plain cotton sports bra, black the first time, dark red the second . . ."

"I'm flattered you paid so much attention."

Ichabod smiled, but sidestepped the compliment. ". . . and yet now it's pale blue lace in a style that does . . . very nice things as far as I'm concerned. Do you wear such things often or is this a _recent_ change in style?"

She pressed against him, pleased to feel how much he appreciated the sight of her, and spoke against the fabric of his chest as she nuzzled. "So I planned ahead for skipping the bullshit," she purred, tilting her head almost straight back to give him a sly look. "Sue me."

He gently nudged her upper body back far enough to comfortably trail a slender index finger down her right bra strap. "Certainly not." His other four fingers joined the index to travel across the border of the scant garment. "It was a fine plan."

She gave him a sly look. "I like to be prepared."

"Well done," he sighed as he circled his arms around her to address the clasp. "I have to say, I much prefer these to threaded corsets. He paused for a moment to enjoy the fact that she was untucking his shirt at the back. "At least when it comes to removal. . . " the bra fell open, and he ran his hands over her bare flesh. "Setting aside convenience, corsets do have their merit."

Abbie pushed his shirt up as far as she could given their height difference, and he took over while she let her bra drop to her hands. She casually tossed it in the general direction of where her shirt had fallen. "I'll make a note of that," she said before going to work on the drawstrings of his pants.

Meanwhile, Ichabod traced and caressed her unbound breasts with one hand, threaded the other through her hair, and gently prompted her to told her head to one side.

Again their height difference posed a problem. In order for him to comfortably reach her neck, he had to move back, separating the two of them by an unacceptable margin.

They tried to manage it for a minute or so, but when Ichabod chuckled against her skin, the the attempt was officially abandoned. "No." He said matter of factly." No, this is will not do."

"We may have some logistics to work out here."

"Luckily, solution is simple." He took her hand and all but dragged her along as he strode toward the hallway that led to the bedroom.

"Ah!" Abbie cried as she trotted along behind. "Someone's in a rush."

"Three years wait, dearest," he explained, stopping suddenly and hoisting her onto his back just as she was about to run into him. "I don't care to waste another moment . . . though I assure you," he continued as he entered the room, deposited her on the bed, and made quick work of her lower garments as well as his owns. "That _rush_ ends . . . " he began to lean slowly onto the bed, guiding her body back. "Exactly now."

He didn't get far before she placed her hands on his chest. "Wait." She ordered. "Stand up."

 _What?_ He thought, but did as he was told without asking aloud. Anyhow, all he had I do was look down to get the answer.

She moved to the edge of the bed in front of him, her legs dangling over the side. The design of the bed was such that this position had her head level with his straining arousal.

"How's this?" She whispered before taking him on her mouth.

He signed as the muscles in his head went completely slack while the rest of his body lit up with a pleasure even beyond what he'd felt a moment ago. "Oh, that is brilliant."

"Mmmmmm."

"Just _brilliant_ . . . " he let out a series of quiet, meaningless noises, as she continued at a perfect pace. "Oh God Abbie, I could handle you like this all night!"

She chuckled against his highly sensitized flesh, and even the tiny vibration made his spine rattle. He couldn't stop himself from cradling her head in his hands and rocking into her, forcing himself to remember good manners and not drive forward too deep.

_Nothing ruins a woman's pleasure like gagging._

He had absolutely no sense of how long it lasted before she withdrew.

"We good?" She panted, gazing up at him, her lips obscenely swollen and shiny.

"That _cannot_ possibly be a serious question," he breathed as he used his own body to guide her back up the mattress. She followed the lead and they came to rest with her left leg over his hip at a slight angle.

Finally, he though with relief, as the position did give him easy access to wherever he cared to wander. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and placed delicate kisses from that warm skin down to her clavicle, responding to her every touch and sound for guidance.

_More pressure._

_Less pressure._

_Stay there._

_Move._

_Lips vs. teeth vs. to tongue._

He patterned his every move to her best responses.

 _Wait until I learn this body better Abbie,_ he thought with a trace of smug satisfaction when he found a spot on her throat (just beneath the earlobe) that made her buck and whine. _Things will only get better from here, I promise._ With that he lapped and nipped his way to her center, diverting occasionally to explore.

She cried out, back arched, when he pressed his tongue firm against her clit and began to oscillate - not quick a stroke, more of a massage. He went on like that, glancing upward occasionally to see the details he couldn't feel.

Her expression.

The subtler motions of her body.

More often than not he couldn't get a proper look at her face because her head was lurching and lolling about, or else thrown back. When he did manage to catch her gaze is when he flicked her clit and slid two fingers inside her in one simultaneous motion, curling and stroking as he went.

 _OH FUCK! (Was that it my head or out loud ?!)_ Every major muscle in her body went wild, shoulders arching off the bed, hands clutching the covers as if they could anchor her to reality. To life beyond what was happening between her legs.

He watched her ride the intense wave, and a new surge of arousal practically drowned his fingers as she bucked aggressively against his mouth. The full sensory experience made his shaft ache for release. Part of him wanted to clamor up the bed that second and bury himself inside what he knew would be a spectacular heat, but the greater part wanted to keep her suspended in orgasm, and perhaps get her somewhere in the vicinity again before taking her fully.

 _Can I ignore this for that long?_ He thought in an uncharacteristic display of self doubt as he propped his weight on one arm and used the free hand to gently stroke himself.

_WantwantwantWANT! . . . I'll hold out as long as I can,_ he promised himself as he licked furiously and moaned against her sex. He only pleasured himself intermittently. Just enough to take the edge off his own need while Abbie hurtled through climax, the sound of and feel of her nothing short of stunning.

Predictably, Ichabod couldn't hold onto the focus necessary to get her close a second time before his body outright demanded relief. He knew if he tried to tend to her properly and ignore his own body another moment, he'd fail at both. So he lunged up the length of her body, pausing just long enough to wipe his mouth on the blankets, and took.

"Ah! Ah!" Abbie cried out again and again, grasping his waist as he thrust. "Crane! _AH!"_

 _"Abbie,"_ he whined in reply, his voice shallow and ragged.

 _So close . . . so close . . . so close . . ._ he thought as release drew nearer, a heat cooking in his gut preparing to attack every cell in his body.

"You're _brilliant,_ Abbie," he whispered. S - s - s - so, _oh!_ So perfect." More praise poured out of him, every word spoken in a stilted, rasping voice as he came with blind intensity. She angled herself just so and coaxed him deeper, setting and guiding his path with the motion of her hips and strong thighs.

She sighed as she felt him cum, reveling in the pulse and push of him inside her. It was as though she'd been an empty shell before. Just waiting to be filled with the heat of his ardent devotion.

He collapsed at her side and snuggled close, one leg cozied between hers, hand caressing her soft belly.

"Apologies," he said quietly, kissing her cheeks and jawline. "You came only once." The hand at her belly traveled south to trace slow, delicate circles over her clit. "Allow me a moment to recover myself, and I shall see to it this night provides you a great deal more satisfaction."

"Mmmmmmmm," she mused lazily. "It's all good, Ichabod. I'm . . . _oooooooh_ so good." She chuckled. "Really good."

"Indeed you are," he purred with a mischievous grin. "But the fact is you are worth far more than just one release, and it is my declared mission as your lover to give your body all the pleasure it deserves."

"Is that right?" She smiled, drifting in an eager but patient haze.

"Mmhm." Ichabod nodded as he rose up just high enough to deliver a long, exploring kiss. "I shall see to it that you fall asleep tonight - quite a long while from now, mind you - utterly _spoiled."_

He succeeded in spades, and she returned the favor. As usual, they proved to be evenly matched.


	2. Another Annoying Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichabod and Abbie have a difference of opinion regarding how their relationship ought to progress. Ichabod is determined to negotiate terms.

"Why are we doing this?" Ichabod whined, in no way pathetically, as Abbie reclined against him on the porch step in the mild warmth of late morning sushine. "Why not just skip it?"

"No," Abbie said in her most resolute tone. "We are not _skipping_ dating, we just . . . accidentally switched up the process a little."

"I stand by my idea." ( still not pouting) "I'd much rather . . . " he pressed a long kiss to the top of her head . . . "simply. . . (kiss) ". . . marry you. Honestly, in our unique circumstance isn't the rest a moot point?"

Abbie chuckled but stayed focused on her notebook, which was filled with notes regarding the Demon of The Week.

Ichabod continued to make his case, undeterred by her lack of response. "The way I understand this 'dating' concept, the point is for two people to get to know one another and test their compatibility. We've done that!" He squirmed out from behind her and moved to the next step down, swiveling to face her as he settled. "Haven't we?"

The tiny woman rested the notebook in her lap and replied with a playful smirk. "In the modern world being an actual couple is a whole different thing, Ichabod. Trust me. No matter how in love you are."

"But you _do_ love me?" He wasn't actually worried at all in regard to her feelings, but at that moment he felt the need for some spoken validation.

"Yes. But but I wanna have more than love on our side for the long haul, okay? Once upon a time I was basically convinced Luke was the perfect guy for me. We'd worked together as friends for years, so I knew him really well when we started dating - and it feels weird to eve _say it_ now, but if he'd asked me to marry him like eight minutes in? I probably would've said yes." She shrugged and snapped her fingers. "Like that. Y'know, gotten caught up in the excitement, and romance, and married him. But in the real world when I started talking about Quantico, deep down I think we both realized I didn't love him enough to pass it up, and he didn't love me enough to leave Sleepy Hollow." She shrugged again. "Whether we wanted to to admit it or not."

Ichabod inched forward to nuzzle her throat. "I still find this caution unnecessary. In our particular case."

Abbie tipped her head back as Ichabod went on with his soft attentions, fully aware that he was using the affections as a further argument in favor of his 'screw caution' strategy.

"You're not gonna let go of this are you?" She sighed.

"Mmmmm," he rumbled against her skin. "I just find it contradictory, dearest. You allowed me _inside your body_ so quickly, yet you won't accept a proposal. You must admit it's rather backward." He made his way to her mouth and kissed.

"Okay," Abbie murmured when he backed away just enough to allow a sliver of space between them. "A compromise. We can . . . I guess . . . truncate the dating thing."

Ichabod leaned back with a broad smile. "Offer accepted. Now -" he snatched the notebook from her hands and picked up the pen by her side. "Let's talk terms. What ground must we cover before you will permit me to at least purchase a ring?"

Abbie shook her head and laughed. "You're so much fun. Um . . . well, I'll go ahead and count all of our time as flirty friends," she winked, "as the equivalent of a first few dates."

"I do so appreciate the concession," said Ichabod as he both wrote down and crossed off 'first dates.' "Done. Continue."

"Meeting the parents is out by default. So next would be . . . a trip away together. Just the two of us day after day, no distractions."

He wrote down 'trip.' And tapped the pen on the pad. "I presume then cohabitation would be the next logical step?"

"Mm - hm." Abbie nodded. "Normally I'd say for at least a year - but," she added before Ichabod could deflate completely, "since you are right about our special circumstances, I'll say . . . three or four months depending on how it goes."

Ichabod wrote it down.

And then you'll let me hunt down a ring beautiful enough for this finger?" He traced his thumb over the unadorned digit and let his voice ooze with shameless flirt. "I believe that task alone could take another year."

The extra effort was not lost on Abbie. "Trying to charm our way to a yes, are we?"

"Absolutely," Ichabod mused as he he ran his free hand up her thigh and pulled her into a long kiss. "May I presume the tactic effective, or shall I descist?"

. . . .

They only made it a few steps into the house before Abbie climbed up Ichabod's lanky body with his assistance and wrapped her legs around his waist. He meanwhile saw no point in traveling all the way to the bedroom when there was a perfectly sturdy, large table in the kitchen area.

"You deserve a thousand engagement rings, Abbie," he panted while she unbuttoned his shirt. "Your pick of the lot for any given day!" He reached beneath her skirt to get rid of her panties, then undid his pants as she leaned back and splayed her legs wide to take him.

From the lust heavy look on his face, she expected him to thrust with swift vigor. Instead he positioned their bodies so that his hardness slid _through_ the full length of her sex rather than enter. Teasing inside only somewhat with each back and forth of his hips.

"How very eager . . . " he purred as she failed to bite back a soft mewling, and his shaft grew harder still, quickly slicked with their mutual arousal.

He helped Abbie unbutton her shirt. She of the rest, then leaned back again, propped up on her elbows and already suffering through the frustration of a small orgasm as she waited impatiently for more.

"Mean." She rasped. "Really fucking mean."

"If I am to suffer drawn out courtship . . . " Ichabod said as he pulled back and adjusted himself, chuckling low and unabashedly cruel. "You will suffer drawn out satisfaction." He rocked slowly forward, this time taking her halfway. "Not quite so fun as those ridiculous romance films would have you believe . . . is it?" He hissed as another forward rock lead him deeper inside.

Abbie released a long, ragged breath, still waiting for a proper thrust.

"More of a frustration, yes?" He asked, mostly succeeding in disguising his body's own impatience.

She only mewled and nodded in response.

"A proper reply, please." Ichabod ordered, still somehow managing to hold the air of authority in his voice despite the inviting warmth shuddering against the pulse of his sensitive flesh. _"Manners_ and all . . . " he gripped her by the hips and pulled her forward, effectively brining her bit by bit over him.

"Yeah." She panted, her core happily welcoming the fullness of his rigid lust. "Yeah. Kinda sucks -AH!" She cried out as he went to work stroking her clit in a circular motion. "Ah, ah, ah, ah . . ."

The needy chant went on quietly as Ichabod propped himself on the table to keep from pitching down completely and pinning her to the table. Once steadied, he guided her hand between their bodies. "Some assistance, _Leftennant."_ He whispered, struggling to ignore the demands of his straining length just a few seconds longer. But his beautiful Abbie possessed such an awareness, such control of her own pleasure, Ichabod felt the success of her masturbatory touch shivering around him immediately.

 _Sod it, I am lost!_ He clutched Abbie's right thigh. _Beyond hope . . ._ He abandoned all thought of restraint and gave in to an aggressive thrust, his pace athletic, somehow loving and forceful in the same moment.

"Abbie! Abbie! Abbie!" He rasped, his whole body lit with the heat of approaching climax.

"Mm! Mm! Mm! Mm! She cried and convulsed as powerful release shivered through her spine and legs, both moving toward her lively sex, ready to collide and explode. "So - _AH!_ So . . . " she bucked wild against him and pressed her clit with an assertive massaging touch. "So! So! _Close!"_ Abbie's words dissolved into a pitchy whine as the wet flesh of her center pressed in to receive the greatest impact of her lover's ardent efforts.

Even the most logical, sturdiest parts of Ichabod's mind crumbled to pure orgasm with the relief of a lost man finding home. "I love you." He whispered breathlessly over and over again as he spilled inside her warm depth and rattled to a finish. "I love you."

The need to make sure Abbie came for as long as possible almost immediately took priority over his urge to rest. So he rallied the energy to lavish her breasts with attention while his fingers slid into her, replacing his spent erection, petting the places inside her that he knew responded especially well to a more _focused_ attention than a man's hardness could generally provide.

"Love you so much," he went on whispering as he kissed and nuzzled the soft, rounded flesh of her breasts and up elegant line of her throat. "My beautiful . . . powerful . . . . . . _my_ Abigail . . . "

He snuggled close and drew his mouth along the contours of her ear, warm breath tickling over her skin. "Ooooooooooh, that such a soul chose me among all men? That alone is wealth enough to shame Kings!"

Abbie bucked and whimpered against the joined skill of both their hands as her throaty mewl built to a single coherent cry. "Crane! Crane! Crane! _ICHABOD!"_

His whispered speech continued as busy fingers scissored and pushed. "I pity them their poverty, Abbie. . . with their silly, _silly_ coin fortune . . . "

 _At your eternal service,_ he thought with what he felt was _earned_ arrogance as the heated 'moment' continued to writhe through her body, sometimes calming down only to rage again. _Without fail . . ._

He did not withdraw until he was sure her body had settled for the final time, nestled into the clam of afterglow, fully sated.

Abbie moaned quietly and stroked Ichabod's hair as he lifted them upright, her legs dangling off the table on either side of him.

Her touch was soft, and faint smell of sex lingered on her hand.

"We are damn special," she mumbled as her forehead lolled slowly back and forth across the prominent line of his clavicle.

A small frown knit itself to Ichabod's brow. "Honestly? . . . I hope for other's sake we are not so special - at least insofar as our feelings." He gave her small frame a gentle squeeze. "I would hope many thousands of people look at their mates and see someone fitted precisely to them. The one to withstand all quarrels, and squabbles . . . " he traced patterns over her curvy flesh with the back of his hand. ". . . And one day the ultimate test of a partnership."

His hand came to rest at her lower belly, and she understood the inference.

 _I could be a kickass Mom,_ she thought with a tiny smile.

"We're still doing the list, Crane." She cajoled with an affectionate giggle.

He tilted her head back and gazed in silence for a moment before descending to meet her mouth in a long series of soft, shallow kisses. "But you could then see us as parents?" He murmured, phrasing the question carefully. He didn't want it to sound as though he took for granted her willingness to bear him children.

She used her legs to hug him close, and nuzzled his nose. "As long as you don't mean a huge _litter_ like they did back in your day. Two is as high as I go."

"Deal." Ichabod declared as he helped her off the table and fetched her clothes from the floor. "Anyhow, large families used to be practical." He stepped into his pants and hoisted them over long legs. "Between disease and injury, it was not uncommon for parents to bury several of their children before dying themselves. Ergo, the more children, the better the chances at least a few may survive to continue the bloodline."

Abbie shuddered as she buttoned her shirt. "I can't imagine."

They wandered back outside, this time opting for the porch swing they'd installed together the previous year. Ichabod fetched their notebook and pen from the top step before settling next to Abbie on the swing. He scribbled several items and addendums down on the list, then handed it to her for approval.

She cleared her throat, and read the full list aloud. "Brief period of dating. Trip away. Cohabitation, three to four months. Engagement. (Overdue) - arent we subtle -" she elbowed him. _"Overdue_ wedding. Honeymoon. Married life of undermined years before -" she smiled at the final item. "Children. Maximum two. Names to be determined."

Ichabod put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. "I wrote 'undetermined years,' though I meant of course at lest until after we've defeated the forces of darkness."

"Obviously." Abbie curled up and snuggled into his embrace.

"So that caveat notwithstanding, you do find these terms acceptable?"

"Hmmmmmm . . . " Abbie tapped the pen on her chin and pretended to be deeply considering the question. Just for the hell of it. "Well, okay." She drew a line at the bottom of the page, scrawled her signature, then drew another line next to it.

Ichabod grinned as she handed him the pen, signed quickly, and regarded the odd document with deep satisfaction. "How _official."_

"Naaaaaah," said Abbie as she squirmed her way to a more comfortable position against his lanky body. "That sounds too businesslike." She trailed her fingers over their respective names, in the process smudging the ink a bit. "Let's call it a _prophecy."_


End file.
